Hyunjin
I lead him out of that treacherous place.
I threw my jacket over him to keep him warm. He was barefoot and physically exhausted. His legs are tangled up, so I crouch down and lift him up.
What he has been through here, would be a strong experience for most people, yet somehow he has survived.
We climb the stairs with his head pressed against my chest. This feeling is familiar to me, but is probably quite foreign to him. I have vowed that if I save him, I will not let him go — whether he remembers me or not. I won't let him go.
Upstairs in the atrium, the commander of the Saturn unit stops me.
„Sir, we have eliminated all threats according to your orders. But there is one thing you should see." He looks up at the ceiling.
Taeju pats me on the shoulder.
„I'll take him to the car and wait there with him," he tells me, reaching for Taesung so that I can go about my duties upstairs. However, Taesung, stubborn as ever, holds on to me tightly and refuses to let go.
„Taei," I say in a kind voice that is too sweet for me. „It's Taeju, you can trust him. Please go with him, I'll be right back. Okay?" He lifts his face from my chest and looks up. Whatever he sees in my eyes, he agrees.
Taeju wants to take him, but Taesung refuses.
„I can manage on my own," he says. I help him to his feet and Taeju supports him as he heads out to the cars.
„Sir," says Saturnia's commander, addressing me again. I follow him up the stairs to the first floor. He leads me into one of the rooms. It is one of the rooms where the child lives.
Janil and Hanil are standing in the middle of the lit room. They are staring at the bed in front of them where a young Japanese woman is crouching with a child in her arms.
His son. Akira Mishimoto.
I approach the bed. I look into his eyes. The child stares at me, tears absent from his eyes. Without fear. Just with that quiet, empty expression that children have when they sense that something irreversible has happened.
„Aren't you cold?" I ask quietly. The boy looks at the fabric. Then back at me. He clutches the T-shirt of the woman holding him, but his attention is already elsewhere.
„You won't sceam?" he asks suddenly, still lisping. I shake my head.
„No one here will scream," I reply calmly. He hesitates for a moment. Then he moves. But the woman pulls him back to her.
„Leave him alone," she says sharply, but not loudly.
„Do you speak Korean? Or English?" She nods, indicating that she speaks both languages, so I decide to talk to her. Only, it's not in the friendly tone I use when talking to Akira.
„Everyone here is dead. I'm not leaving without that child. Let him go, or I'll order them to shoot you. Now." She glances at Kang's brothers, who are standing in the middle of the room. Reluctantly, her grip loosens, but the prospect of her own death is more frightening.
„Akira," I call to the boy, smiling kindly at him. He breaks free from the woman's grip and crawls over to me. I pull the blanket with train motifs off the bed and wrap him in it. He presses himself against my chest. Only then do I take him in my arms.
I stand up, press my hand against his ear and pull him closer.
A shot rings out behind me. I don't turn around. I simply walk out of the room and out of the house. I get into the car to joing Taesung and we drive away.
... ༺༻ ...
There is no right choice. Only one that I can live with.
When I look at this child, possibilities run through my head like a poorly mixed poison. One after another. Each one has its price.
I could give him to Sunhee. That would be the purest option. Strategically, it would be correct. The child would be away from the mafia's world of blood and names that mean death. It would seem simple to those around us. I would break the cycle of violence. I killed the enemy, but spared his blood. A pragmatic move. Cold. Correct.
Akira would grow up in a relatively normal world. School, home and silence without gunshots. Sunhee would be his anchor. A civilian life. Perhaps one day he would return — older, wiser, and with unanswered questions. Who killed my father? Why was I raised by someone else?
This idea weighs on me, but it's not a pain that will break me. It's safe. Perhaps too safe.
And that's the problem. In that scenario, I would be partially redeemed. I'm not sure I deserve that, though.
The second option is darker. It's more direct. It's more true to who I am. Keep him.
I killed his father. I took his blood. I made it my responsibility.
In the mafia world, that would be a clear gesture. Dominance. Control. It was a message to everyone else. What belongs to me, I take all of it. I didn't just kill Mishimoto. I took his future, too.
Every day, I would look into the eyes of the son of the man I had personally killed. This was both a punishment and a reminder of my commitment. It was a constant reminder that I am neither Mishimoto nor a good man. I never was.
And then there's Taesung. This is the part that weighs on me the most. He survived torture. He was the reason for the whole war. Now he's looking at an innocent child. Akira is a reflection of what Taesung could have been if I hadn't brought him into this world.
Then there's a third possibility. The one that is neither pure nor completely corrupt. In that case, Akira would be with Sunhee. Name, school, protection. The civilian world. In reality, though, I would pay for everything. I would make the decisions. I would watch over him. He would know that, the man who saved him was Yoon Hyunjin.
He would see me. He would see Taesung. Not regularly. Not loudly. Without explanation.
The mafia would see that I hadn't killed the child, but that I had him under control. He wouldn't be held hostage. But he wouldn't be gone either.
One day, he would grow up knowing something that cannot be taken back. He would know that the man who saved his life was also the one who killed his father. That's a tragedy. Real. And inevitable.
That's why I feel it's true. I didn't kill the child for his father's sins. But I didn't let him forget whose life it was either.
I have to find the answer to that first.
... ༺༻ ...
He knocks. Just once. I recognise the sound. I always have.
„Come in," I say, not turning around. I'm standing by the wardrobe, choosing my clothes. I've just got out of the shower and am wrapped only in a towel.
The door opens and closes quietly. I sense him before I see him. That strange calm that only he brings.
„I couldn't sleep," he says from behind me. His voice is calm. Too calm. I turn around. He's standing barefoot in front of my closed bedroom door, his hair tousled and his gaze focused. He's not looking through me anymore. He's looking at me.
„Me neither," I reply. We are silent for a moment. The silence between us is not empty. It is heavy. It's filled with things we've never said out loud.
„Can I stay here?" he asks out of the blue. I frown, seeing no reason to make him leave.
„I'm not kicking you out," I tell him quietly.
„That's good. I just want to be able to sleep." I freeze. That sentence. I'd only ever said it to him. Back then, I said it because I wanted him to stay with me overnight so that I could get a good night's sleep for the first time in a long time because I was haunted by nightmares every night. I look into his eyes. They are dark. Clear. Present. There was no fog in them anymore.
„Taei," I breathe, my voice breaking. He smiles. Not triumphantly. Gently. Almost cautiously.
„I remember," he says quietly. „Everything. You." At that moment, I can't take it anymore.
I don't know who approached whom first. I don't know who moved first. All I know is that I'm kissing him hungrily and desperately, as if there hadn't been months of silence, pain and blood between us, but an entire lifetime of waiting. As if the world had taken a breath again.
I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I let them stay there. I don't look away.
„I'll never let you go again. You're mine," I whisper against his lips.
„I never left," he replies. „I just got lost for a while." I freeze.
„Wait," I breathe quietly. „Since when do you know Korean?" He lowers his gaze for a moment. It's as if he's considering how much of the truth he wants to reveal to me.
„I'm learning practically from the start." I raise my eyebrows. „I didn't want something like what happened with Ryu to happen again." We are silent. We both know what he means.
A gunshot. Blood. Ryu's companion falling to the ground and my deadly serious threat.
„I never wanted to hear anger again just because I didn't understand you," he adds quietly. Before I realise it, I reach out to him and our lips join.
The bed engulfs us as naturally as it did then. Without words. Without haste. Just with the certainty that this is a homecoming. Not an escape.
I move gently and slowly. I don't want to hurt him. He is still wounded. Old and new scars are healing on his body. He needs time to recover completely.
I let him enjoy the beautiful feeling of two people connecting. I caress and kiss his naked skin. I try to memorise every curve of his body. I want to carve him into my memory just as he is.
... ༺༻ ...
Later, he lies next to me with his head on my chest and his fingers lazily tracing invisible shapes on my skin. His breathing is still rapid, just like mine. Our sweaty, tired bodies are finally at peace. The outside world has ceased to exist — no blood, no orders, no weapons. There is just this silence, and for the first time in a long time, I can truly breathe.
„What are you going to do with that boy?" he suddenly asks. Bluntly. Without hesitation. As if he knows I already have the answer deep inside me.
I close my eyes. „I don't know yet," I admit quietly. And it's not a lie. It's the first time I've allowed myself to not know. He falls silent for a moment. All I can hear is his breathing and the beating of my own heart. Then he moves slightly, propping himself up on his elbow, and looks at me with that gaze of his which always breaks me down — not with force, but with precision. It's as if he sees things that I often overlook myself.
„I've never had a connection with children," he says quietly. „Remember? When we were at Sunhee's. At Sofia's. I told you it wasn't for me." I nod. The memory comes back to me more vividly than I expected. „But this...," He places his palm on my chest, right over my heart. His touch is firm and real. „This isn't about a child." He looks up at me. „It's about who you want to be."
I open my eyes. I look at him and see no judgement in his eyes. Only certainty. The most dangerous thing of all. „You know which path is right," he adds calmly. Not as a command. It's more like a reminder of something I already knew but didn't want to hear.
For the first time since I killed Mishimoto, I feel that something is truly coming to an end — not the war. Not the bloodshed. But the cycle that has held me captive.
„We'll find the right path," I finally say.She smiles.
„I know." In that smile, there is more trust than I deserve. More hope than I ever allowed myself to have. That evening, I realised that love is not a weakness, but a different kind of battle.
He paid the debt he owed with his own heart, not his blood. And with a love worth more than all the blood in the world.
... ༺༻ ...
BLOOD DEBT (피의 빚)